


hear my words that I might teach you, take my arms that I might reach you

by viveriveniversumvivusvici55



Series: The Sound of Silence [4]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: A frankly murderous Courier, Canon-Typical Violence, Catharsis, Colonialist Debate, Do we smite the repenting wicked or do we forgive them, Ex-Legion Courier, Forgiveness, Gen, Honest Hearts DLC, Mercy - Freeform, Religious Discussion, Slavery, Trans Male Character, it's pronounced Percy, mute character, mute courier, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:20:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22453312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viveriveniversumvivusvici55/pseuds/viveriveniversumvivusvici55
Summary: “Rest now. You are in God’s country.”Fuck you. We don’t need your God, Legate.Perse signs on with the Happy Trails Caravan Company to follow rumours about the man who once owned him still being alive. He has a score or two to settle with that ex-Legate.
Series: The Sound of Silence [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615609
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. A Brief Character Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> First note: His name is pronounced Percy.  
> Second note: I am neither mute nor trans, even though Perse is. This may show up in my writing, and if it offends, I apologize and please let me know what I can do to change it.  
> Third note: This is going to be me venting my frustration about colonialism and religion. Please bear with me.
> 
> I plan for this fic to be much shorter than the others. If I'd had the choice, I'd have shot Graham on sight but nooooooo, I can't do that.

_You are a courier, hired by the Mojave Express, to deliver a package to the New Vegas Strip. What seemed like a simple delivery job has taken a turn…for the worse. According to a recorded message on your Pipboy (in addition to the delivery notice), your name is Perse. You were once a slave in Caesar's Legion, owned by the one and only Malpais Legate. When he fell from grace, you ran to avoid death, stole a Pipboy and clothes from a dead vault dweller, and recorded a message to yourself saying that you're free but being hunted by the Legion. Considering your scarred slit throat is not as old as the collar scars around your neck, but older than the bullet in your head, you suspect they caught you. You picked up a rifle and made the executive decision to not only try to deliver your package but find the man who shot you in the first place._

_In the process of trying to deliver your package to the Vegas Strip (after many, many errands for people around said Strip), you heard_ _rumours that the Burned Man still walked, that Joshua Graham might still be alive out in the wilds of Zion. Given that your PipBoy says you were once owned by Joshua Graham, the Malpais Legate, and that slavery is never a pleasant experience…you have a few things to say to the man. Beginning with “how dare you” and ending with “fuck you”. When your PipBoy picked up a radio broadcast advertising a need for caravan guards on an expedition to Zion…you jumped on it._

_With vengeance and a desperate need for answers in your mind, you stride off to Zion, to where you might find the Malpais Legate, and you keep your gun loaded just in case._

_**I’m coming for you, Legate. Better start praying.** _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this story out with the full intent that Perse was going to kill Joshua Graham. I had very strong feelings over that. So imagine my surprise when the muse carried me into mercy.

Perse, hopefully, can be forgiven for stewing in his own rage the whole way to Zion.

He’d heard stories that Joshua Graham had survived being covered in pitch, set on fire, and thrown into the Grand Canyon. He’d chalked that up to wishful thinking – who could survive that – and then, one dark night in the Big MT, he realized that if anyone could…it would be Joshua Graham.

Motherfucking Joshua Graham.

Perse didn’t even _remember_ what had caused this deep personal rage with the Malpais Legate. He knew that Joshua Graham had been his owner, that people had called him ‘Perse Graham’ and that he’d hated it, and the scars on his body like those who had cruel masters suggested that Graham hadn’t been a good one. No one who had known Perse personally was still alive in the Legion camp, apart from Vulpes and Caesar (and Graham himself, of course), so no one could even tell him why he should be angry.

Then came the Happy Trails Caravan Company ad, followed by a rumour that Joshua Graham had been seen in Zion, near New Canaan.

Boone was the last one to see Perse go, filling up his bag with travel rations and a loaded gun. If anyone understood that homicidal need for revenge, it was Boone, and the sniper had wished him luck. “Bring us a souvenir from him so we can burn it,” was all Boone said, handing him an extra pack of ammo.

Perse had simply grinned with all of his teeth in a snarl and signed, _I plan to._

So hopefully, his silence and sulking can be forgiven. The rest of the company tries to cajole him into late night games of caravan, stories, and drinking. He only stays for the gossip and long swigs of whiskey. As they draw closer and closer to New Canaan, Perse finds himself sharpening a machete. The Vault Dweller (Ricky, a cocky asshole with a broken Pip Boy) comes up to him to chat.

“You look like you’re about to kill someone.”

Perse doesn’t stop sharpening as he nods.

“Not one of us, I hope.”

Perse shakes his head and lifts the machete, examining the edge. Sharp, but could be sharper. He puts the machete down on his lap, still holding the hilt in one hand, and looks at the man. After a moment of thought, Perse draws his scarf around his face like a bandage.

“The Burned Man? Why do you want the Burned Man?”

With a sharp smile, Perse writes one word in the dirt with the tip of the machete. _Payback._

* * *

So far, the Zion visit isn’t going well. Perse ducks the gunfire from the White Legs, the group Jed had told them to be wary of, and frantically reloads his hunting rifle behind a rock. He is so glad that most of what he packed is ammo. He cocks the gun and charges down the bridge to a good spot to aim. Bullets keep flying, Perse takes a hit of two…and then someone jumps up behind the White Leg and smashes their head in. And doesn’t shoot Perse.

It might be a trap.

...eh, he'll take what luck he can get. Perse quickly reloads his gun and walks across the bridge to meet this person.

“Hoi! White legs don’t leave survivors often. You’re some kind of lucky, let me tell you.”

Perse frowns at the young man and walks closer, looking behind him. He is lucky, yes, but that is always a…case by case basis sort of situation.

“You came from outside, didn’t you? From the civilized lands?”

Perse nods slowly, an eyebrow raised. _Civilized lands? That’s what they call us?_

The young man whistles. “Wow…Joshua will want to hear about this.”

_JACKPOT._

With some supreme effort to hide his emotions, Perse does his usual introduction – shows his slit throat, mimes that he can’t talk. Follows-Chalk works it out. “Joshua knows how to translate. You can come see him.”

Perse hides his rage and cocks his head in false confusion. _Joshua? Who is that?_

“Joshua Graham – he leads our tribe. Thanks to him, the Dead Horses are strong, and safe from our enemies."

_Can the Malpais Legate go anywhere without starting a war?_

"He’ll want to talk to anyone coming up from south-ways. Guess that means just you, now. Come, I can take you to him.”

Follows-Chalk is naive and young, but seems a decent man. Perse follows him carefully through Zion, climbing up and down paths, listening to the young man prattle on and taking mental notes (White Legs are the most war-like, trying to get into Caesar’s good graces. New Canaan was wiped out.), dodging the local wildlife (Perse is angry but not so angry that he could handle a Yao-Guai on his own), and finally walking through the cleanest water Perse has ever seen. He fills up every waterskin and canteen he brought with him, picks herbal ingredients on the way from the new recipes Follows-Chalk teaches him, and takes a moment to wash his face.

He gets a chance to look at himself in the reflection. He's still dirty, scarred, and bloody. But it's still him.

_Will he even know who I am?_

“Joshua this way,” Follows-Chalk says. “You better be nice in camp, okay?”

Perse is so angry that he can barely breathe. He just nods, tightens his fingers around his hunting rifle, and follows into the camp.

“In there.” Follows-Chalk points into a cave.

Perse nods again tightly in thanks and stalks forward into the cave. It feels oddly like he’s confronting destiny.

In the darkness, he cocks his rifle.

* * *

He knows those eyes.

The man may be covered in bandages from head to toe, only fingertips exposed, but those sharp blue eyes are more than visible. He recognizes them immediately, and feels a shiver run down his spine. Instinct tells him to drop to his knees, bowing his head, and wait to be addressed. Perse freezes at the corner. He mentally grabs that instinct and beats it into submission. _No. I am not a slave. I greet him man to man._

He turns the corner, knocking on a column of stone with the butt of his rifle to announce his welcome. Graham looks up slightly from his work cleaning guns at him, and goes back to it.

_He doesn't recognize me._

“We should have given you a better welcome on your first visit to Zion, but from what I hear, the White Legs beat us to it. White Legs seem to be the only visitors we have these days, and I wouldn’t have expected anyone from the Mojave to come looking for us.”

Then Joshua looks up at him, and as those bright blue eyes pierce him, a flash of memory enters Perse’s damaged brain.

“ _Kneel and say a prayer before battle, Perseus. Then earn the warrior name you have given yourself and fight. Do not disappoint me.”_

A particularly nasty scar across Perse’s side aches at that, and he tries hard not to scowl.

“And you’re a courier, no less. Not the one I was expecting, but I suppose he wouldn’t have come with a caravan. I don’t know if you were close to the other members of your group, but you have my sympathy. I pray for the safety of all good people who come to Zion, even Gentiles, but we can’t expect God to do all the work.”

Perse lets out a loud scoff, unable to stop himself. _Of course you'd say some shit like that._

Graham puts down the guns and looks at Perse. His eyes narrow, scanning him over, and Perse steps forward into the light. He looks different than when he was a slave – he knows that. His auburn hair is short, shaved at the sides, and there is an artful smear of dirt to look like stubble. Cobbled together armour, a Pipboy on his arm, and a fresh flat chest. Scar on his throat and neck, across his forehead, and a resentful one-eyed glare. But apparently there is enough of him left, because Joshua’s eyes widen with recognition.

Perse rolls his eye and salutes in the Legion way. _Ave, true to_ _Caesar_ , he mouths along, obviously mocking.

Graham takes a moment to respond. “Perseus."

_That was my name?_

"I am surprised you survived. Did Caesar let you live?”

 _No._ Perse shakes his head and mimes running with one hand, the other still on his gun.

“I see. You ran.” Perse gets the sensation that Perse raised his eyebrow. “You are silent. Mute?”

Perse nods, holds two fingers up over his head like dog ears, and then drags a thumb across his throat. His hand goes right back to his rifle.

“Vulpes slit your throat. I see. Well, you are lucky, and I see the Lord wished you to stay with us a while longer.”

Perse glares. _Fuck you. I lived because House wants me alive._

Not that Graham understands, of course. He simply nods. “Well, I am glad to see you well, Perseus. I admit that I was worried about you.” The frown is still in place hard on Perse’s face and Graham sighs. “I take it you are not as happy to see me.”

Perse bares his teeth in a snarl. _No. I’m not._

Graham sighs and straightens in his chair. “I see you did not come with the caravan for wealth and trade. Well, you may certainly try to have your revenge, Perseus, but before you do, I ask for your assistance to help deal with the White Legs. If not for me, for these people I guard.”

Perse raises an eyebrow, hand resting on his side where his hunting rifle rests.

“You wonder why you should care,” Graham guesses.

A nod, hard and forceful. _Convince me, Legate._

“Because it will stop a tribe trying to earn Caesar’s favour, save the lives, get you the map you need to get out of here, and prove yourself so I don’t gun you down where you stand,” the bandages where Graham’s mouth would be shift in what Perse guesses to be a smile, and Graham’s bandaged fingers rest on one of many freshly loaded pistols. “And perhaps you have questions to ask me. The dead tell no tales.”

Perse thinks real hard about that, weighs the fury that has guided him from the Mojave with his need to help, to protect, to make things better. And of course, his own goddamn self-preservation instinct. With a loud sigh, Perse puts his rifle back on his back and crosses his arms over his chest, making a talking motion with his hand.

_Talk, Legate._

* * *

Graham comes to the Sorrows camp for a visit while Perse is helping them out. Waking Cloud has gone to shout a little more at Daniel – really, Daniel should have known better than to hide her husband's death from her – and Perse is happy to have a moment to himself. It is late at night, Perse on a bedroll near the fire and Graham taking a bench. They watch the flames and Perse works steadily on a bottle of whiskey and a skewer of roasted gecko. Most of his armour is off for now, although his machete rests close by.

 _Just because I am helping you doesn’t mean I trust you,_ Perse thinks fiercely.

Graham finally breaks the silence. “The Lord gave you tools, and you have remade yourself, I see.”

He is looking at Perse’s chest, and Perse makes a growling noise, deep in his throat. It hurts a bit to make, but it’s enough for him to communicate. _Fuck off, Legate._

“I mean no disrespect. I know Dorothea," one of the cooks back in camp, the one that helped him escape, who got crucified for doing so, "taught you to bind, but I know you did not care what was underneath the cloth. I am glad that you are…more comfortable.”

Perse puts the bottle down and holds the skewer in his teeth while he pulls up the typing function on the Pip-Boy. One angry stabbing sentence later, Perse turns it to him. **From what I remember, you didn’t really care about whether I was comfortable, Legate. Only that I did what you asked.**

“I am not a Legate anymore - you do not have to call me that."

**No, I don't. It's what you are.**

Graham rolls his eyes, but continues. "I did not care much, then, no,” he replies, voice a little mournful. “You were more pet than person, but…I like to think I took good care of you.”

**Bullshit. I was your slave.**

“You don’t remember much about your time with me,” Graham replies sharply, blue eyes staring first at Perse’s bullet wound scar and then into his eye, like he is trying to read the sins across Perse’s soul, “and I would caution you against angering me, if you remember anything of that. I know what you were like, and I know what I was like with you, and you know you were better off with me than Lanius. Or Caesar himself.”

That…is true. Perse sighs. **If I had to choose between two evils, lesser or greater, I would choose neither.**

“Perhaps we would, in a better world,” Graham looks at him intently. “As for what I am like, I hope I have grown a little wiser since, having turned my anger to better purpose than the slaughter of good people.”

There is…regret in Graham’s voice. Fervency, passion…but regret. Perse almost thinks that maybe, just maybe, he did really change in the fire.

**What was I like?**

Graham makes a huffing sound of laughter. “Fierce. I remember thinking that if you had any other master, you might have been dead, but I liked your fire. You proved yourself well in the fighting pits every time I put you in them. You bandaged your wounds with little help, but you helped everyone else with theirs. I know you were afraid of me, but you talked back to me more than anyone else dared to. I let you have a little more…leash, than most slaves.”

**You put an explosive collar on my neck.**

“That helped too. You were still a slave, after all, and your tribe had been resistant.”

**The Twin Mothers.**

“Yes. You taught me their Bitter Drink recipe. They were…struck down. Quite harshly.”

Perse swallows. So much for a family out there.

“You prayed with me, or at least pretended to, or perhaps to whatever gods you still believed in. You listened to every sermon and every angry rant I gave, and you asked questions. It is why I say you were more like a pet than a slave. You were…my favourite, I suppose,” Graham looks into the fire. “It was why I was surprised you were still alive. I thought Caesar would have made an example of you.”

So that’s why Perse can’t bear to listen to anyone professing their faith anymore. He tries not to snort as he tears off another piece of gecko from the skewer.

 **How did I fight?** He asks after.

“With a machete. Light and fast. You took some hits, but no one ever got close to knocking you down in the ring.”

Those instincts had kept him alive so far. Perse grins. _Good._ But something about it…itches. There’s no way he would have been this afraid over a man like this, who claimed to favour him, who let him talk back. **Did we ever fight?**

Graham nods. “Once. You were sixteen, I believe. Thought that because you were getting strong and had more freedom that you could be considered a person. You tried to kill me.”

Perse’s shoulder aches. **You nearly killed me. Beat me within an inch of my life,** he guesses.

“Yes. It wasn’t the first beating I gave you, and not the last, but it was the worst. I dangled you by your arm over a cliff and told you that I was the will and wrath of God and that I would not be tampered with, least of all by a slave.” Graham chuckles darkly. “Dramatic, but to the point. You never fought me again.”

Perse swallows. Shit. He tries to take that image of the Malpais Legate and transpose it over this bandaged holy man…and it’s not quite right. It doesn’t fit. **What happened to you, Legate?  
**

And then Perse hears it. He hears the rage in Joshua Graham’s voice as he speaks, hears that the only reason that Joshua survived was because his hate and spite were stronger than death, hears the Legion’s rage turned to holy purpose, and Perse swallows. Nope. That’s still the Malpais Legate, ready to wage war.

 **You are not the will of the Lord, you are the will of men. Not even men – don’t pretend that your rage is the Lord’s rage,** Perse angrily types. **You are the Malpais Legate, leading people to war all over again. It’s all you know.**

“I do not pretend to be a better man, Perseus.”

 **You AREN’T.** Perse spits on the ground. **You’re both patronizing assholes. At least you’re honest that you think they’re weak without you.**

“You think Daniel is not honest?” Graham asks.

Perse shakes his head. **It’s worse than that. He thinks that the Sorrows need to be taught how to be proper people, that their beliefs don’t matter. He thinks they’re ‘innocent’ of some crime of being human, that he has to help them because they’re too primitive to survive this harsh world without him, and** **plans to protect their innocence by leading them away to a place where they will be free of the raiders who prey upon them**. **He’s trying to be Moses leading them to Paradise, but he’s taking them away from it, the arrogant, patronizing, foolish man. THIS IS THEIR HOME.**

“So you agree with me,” Graham replies. “That they should fight for their home.”

Perse frowns. **As much as I’d rather die than agree with you, Legate…yes.**

“Then you will help me."

**If you agree that your rage at the White Legs isn’t God seeking to smite the wicked with righteous fury – it’s you looking for control and an outlet in the only way you know how to live.**

Joshua goes quiet and looks away.

“ _By the rivers of Babylon,_ _There we sat down, yea, we wept_ _when we remembered Zion_ ,” he says softly, and while Perseus grits his teeth at the scripture, it tugs at him, a memory of the Legate reading scripture out loud at night. “ _Remember, O Lord, against the sons of Edom The day of Jerusalem, Who said, “Raze it, raze it, To its very foundation!” O daughter of Babylon, who are to be destroyed, happy the one who repays you as you have served us. Happy the one who takes and dashes your little ones against the rock.”_

The further in the verse he gets, the angrier he sounds, low and furious. Perse feels old instincts rise up in him, the kind that want to kneel and bend his head and submit, but he beats them down.

“The White Legs will not leave us in peace. I don’t enjoy killing,” ( **BULLSHIT,** Perse types fiercely) “but when done righteously, it’s just a chore, like any other. Practiced hands make for short work, and the good Lord knows there’s much to be done here. Zion belongs to God and the people of God. It is a natural temple and a monument to his glory. When our Lord entered the temple and found it polluted by money-changers and beasts, did he ask them to leave? Did he cry? Did he simply…walk away?”

Perse remembers this story. **He drove them out.**

“It is one thing to forgive a slap across my cheek, but an insult to the Lord requires…no, it demands correction.”

The affront in his voice is…horrifying. **You know I don’t believe.**

“Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed. Fight the White Legs enough and you’ll see the truth.”

**You’re goddamn fucking insane, Legate. Remember what I said about your anger, not God’s? This is your paradise away from the Legion and you’re mad that the Legion wants to creep back in. It’s an insult to YOU.**

“Would you not be angry?” Graham glares at him. “The Legion has hurt you enough.”

**I would be, and I wouldn’t pretend it’s God’s anger. It’s mine.**

“Follows-Chalk saw you fight. Killing is a chore to you as well. And you were prepared to kill me.”

**I still am.**

“And yet you haven’t.”

 **Maybe I’m still too used to listening and obeying you.** Perse glares at him. **When this is done…**

“Let us drive out the White Legs. Then we’ll discuss my fate, Perseus.” Graham looks into the fire. "I will be waiting."

* * *

As much as Perse hates Joshua Graham, he does respect the man as a capable fighter. He hadn’t been made Legate for nothing. The man is a crack shot with his .45 pistols, landing shot after shot into the White Legs, and each shot is ruthlessly effective. Perse does the same with his hunting rifle, and with every pile of White Legs they drop, Graham looks somehow vindictive and resigned. Perse can imagine that this is what the Malpais Legate was like at Hoover Dam – killing was a chore, but he resented the cause that threw the enemies forward into his bullets.

There are more than a few times where Perse is tempted to shoot Graham in the back of the head. Especially when Graham runs ahead to find another route when the White Legs cave in the path behind them.

He doesn’t shoot him. For now. He just snarls and hikes up the mountain path, chasing after the Burned Man.

_(Perse suspects that if he had been told before he was shot in the head that he would be following the Malpais Legate into battle without an explosive collar and with a gun in his hand, his old self would have thought him a fool and told him to shoot the man._

_He doesn't know why he hasn't yet. Maybe to see it through?)_

When he finally get to Salt-Upon-Wounds to confront him, Joshua Graham _is_ the Malpais Legate again. The resignation fades as he executes two White Legs prisoners, his eyes fierce between the layers of bandages, filled with cold rage that makes Perse want to hide. “We warned you at Syracuse, but you persisted," his voice sounds like he is giving a death sentence. "You took advantage of us at new Canaan to drive us out, and like the dogs of Caesar you are, you followed us to Zion. And now you stand on holy ground, a temple To gods glory on earth. But the only use in our temple for an animal is sacrifice.”

“Kale watcha noi conservo. You understand me, don’t you? Don’t you?” Perse can hear the smug snarl in his voice. It dredges up a memory hanging over a cliff by a broken arm, and that voice being the only thing keeping him alive. He wants to run, to hide, to do anything but get in the Malpais Legate’s way.

 _But I am Perseus no longer._ He walks forward up to Graham, a hand on his machete. Seeing a new face, Salt-Upon-Wounds looks up for mercy. “Outman! Kuna man mad. He kill all white legs. You talk. You stop.”

Will he stop it? The White Legs have done terrible things in the name of Caesar, in trying to hunt Joshua down.

Surprisingly, it is both Graham’s voice in his memory…and Arcade’s.

_"And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors … For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses."_

_"We're here to help, Perse. And fuck up the Legion, but also to help. Maybe even help the Legion find some of their humanity along the way, knowing your luck."_

...maybe he can do this.

Perse nods. Salt Upon Wounds sounds relieved. “Him hear you. You talk.”

Graham’s eyes are murderous. “Don’t listen to this...thing! His cries are that of a mad beast caught in a thicket. He gave no mercy to my family, and I shall give none to his.”

Perse gives a warning growl, although he doesn’t reach for a weapon. No, for all of the Legate’s rage…there is a man trying to be better. Perse will drag him out into the sunlight before he kills him. He taps quickly into his Pip-Boy and sets it to read aloud. **Are you not satisfied? He’s dead already. Let him go.**

Graham snarls in return. “He has a debt to pay for what he has done and I have come to collect. And so he’s chosen to cower in the water like an animal. If I do not collect, who will?”

Perse just points up with a mocking smile before typing again. **If your God is real, Legate, he’ll collect later on, when it is right. But let it be.** He jerks a thumb behind him at the Sorrows, who Perse guesses are some degree of horrified and eager, watching their next action for whatever will guide them through their future. **They don’t need to see this. They don’t need to see you do this.**

That…does not satisfy the Burned Man. “Tell me, Perseus, who wants so deeply to murder me for what I have done to you. What would you do?” Joshua presses the muzzle of his pistol to the back of Salt-Upon-Wounds’s head. “He killed my people, my _family_. He comes as a messenger of Caesar, to earn his favour by killing me. Would you grant him mercy in your anger?”

Perseus raises an eyebrow. **No, I wouldn’t, but no one considers me a god of their own, and I am the only one who judges my actions.**

Graham's rage grows in volume. “I want to take from them what they took from me, from my family. In _this_ life. I want them to suffer. I want all of them to die in fear and pain."

This isn’t working. Perse spits and makes a noise that sounds like half of the word ‘FUCK’ and types angrily. **God fucking dammit, Legate, if you want to exterminate them, kill them with kindness. Let them fall because of mercy if that is what your Lord stands for. You say you aren’t the Malpais Legate anymore, that I should change my mind and spare you for the redeemed man that you are. Fucking. Prove. It.**

The staring contest is intense, and Perse finds himself chanting mentally _come on, come on, you know I’m right, you know I’m right._

Finally, Graham sighs. "You were right, before. I want to have my revenge. Against him. Against Caesar. I want to call it my own, to make my anger God's anger. To justify the things I've done. Sometimes I tell myself these wild fires never stop burning. But I'm the one who starts them. Not God. Not them." His voice shakes a little. "I can always see it in my mind. The warmth and the heat. It will always be a part of me. But not today."

Finally, his gun lowers, sliding into its harness with an audible thunk. "Go." His voice is resigned but firm in its direction to Salt-Upon-Wounds. "Get out of here. Back to the Salt Lake."

Not needing to hear it again, Salt-Upon-Wounds stumbles to his feet and flees with his life, along with the remaining White Legs.

Perse makes a triumphant sound. _I knew I could do it._ But now...now it's just the two of them, standing in a ravine, backed by the few Sorrows that made it this way. Joshua is unarmed, and Perse's hand itches for his machete. It settles on the hilt and when Graham looks at him again, there is a soft laugh.

"So...has your mind changed? Have you decided my fate?"

Perse...doesn't know. The man is a war criminal, one of the great leaders behind murder and outright war. Not to mention torture, crucifixion, and cultural genocide. He kept Perse as a slave from when he was a child, forced him into fighting rings to earn honour, nearly beat him to death, stripped his culture from him, and scarred him enough that even with a bullet to the head, Perse can faintly recall where they all came from. But...he is a decent man, apart from his rage. He kept Perse safe, respected his transition _(I shall call you Persephone, NO I'M A BOY, Perseus_ then), integrated him in his faith (albeit in a very patronizing way), and helped make him strong. He changed after the Legion turned on him, and he is trying to do better for the Dead Horses and Sorrows. Granted, with the same war criminal methods, but...he's trying. 

"Whatever you do, I thank you. It's finished, and you stayed with me. I could not have chosen mercy on my own," Graham says softly, "You had nothing to prove to me - you should not have had to - but you have my respect. You helped the Dead Horses, even if it meant helping me. You cannot deny that what I did made you stronger, but I cannot deny that it should not have been that way. And even with the damage done...you are still a better person than I could ever be."

Perse's fingers curl around the machete.

“I am at peace as much as I can be, even if there is much to do in my absence. The map out of Zion is yours, as are my belongings, whatever you choose."

_I will not become like him if I kill him._ _I do not believe in his God. But...I do believe in forgiveness. Can retribution be tempered with mercy?_

_Can retribution be tempered with mercy?_

_Can I find the strength to do it?_

_Is he **worth** **it?**_

Perse thinks for a moment and walks up to the Burned Man. There is no fear in those blue eyes...only resignation and understanding of what he believes will be his fate. "Go with God, Perseus."

Then Perse draws back his fist and slams it hard into Graham's nose. And then the other one into his mouth.

The man crumples to a knee with a groan, the bandages by his nose turning red, and looks up in time for Perse to kick him once in the stomach. The Sorrows make horrified sounds behind him, but Perse doesn’t care. He lands one more kick, ferocity in the movement, and then steps back, chest heaving. Neither machete or gun comes out, and Perse’s fists stay still.

Joshua Graham shifts his bandages so he can spit out blood as he rolls onto his knees and lets out a wet laugh. “I deserved that.”

Perse kneels before him, drawing a knife. He tugs at the bandages on Graham’s neck to reveal cracked scarred skin (that must have hurt) and gently, ever so gently, runs the knife along it. It leaves a faint trail of red, and Joshua winces with the pain, but does not move. The mark goes all the way around his neck, connecting in a neat bloody collar and finally, Perse draws his knife away, satisfied. Now, they match.

He types out his next message with firm fingers. **Remember me. Remember what you will never do again, Legate. Live with what you have done.**

Graham’s eyes widen in surprise, but he nods. “Thank you.”

Perse snarls as he types out the next message. **Don’t thank me. If I hear you have strayed, I will come back and send you to your judgement.**

Footsteps pound behind them, and soon Perse hears Daniel’s horror-filled voice shout, “What are you doing?”

Joshua Graham tries to wipe his mouth through the bandages and fails. Perse rises and steps to the side, rubbing his knuckles, to look at Daniel. The man’s chest is heaving, his eyes wide as they flash between Perse and Graham, and Graham explains, “He is showing me mercy, but not forgiveness.” His voice is muddled by the blood and break in his nose. It sounds _good._ Perse can’t help but feel proud at that.

Daniel frowns. “By beating you?”

“I wronged him greatly,” Graham shifts the bandages on his neck to cover up the cut and around his mouth once again to spit. He coughs so he can speak clearly and continues, “and he does not forgive me, but…he has changed his mind on whether I deserve to die.”

Perse taps out a reply and lets it be read aloud. **Only God can judge you, Legate. But you still ruined my life.**

“That I did.” Joshua sits up and slowly gets to his feet, wheezing with the breath next breath.

**But people still need you. And you have a lot of good to do to make up for your crimes.**

“That I do.”

Perse turns to Daniel, who flinches for only a moment under his gaze before straightening. “Are you going to beat me too? You show mercy one moment, cruelty the next, Courier. How can you claim to be a good person when you do that, to make those judgements?”

“Because he’s a man. Just a man.” Waking-Cloud says softly. 

The Sorrows whisper among each other, and Perse feels…oddly proud of that as he types out his next message. **My quarrel was not with you. Only him. The Sorrows and Dead Horses are safe now. I want the map so I can go home, and you never have to see me again.**

Daniel hands over the map, expression still and unkind. Perse takes it gladly and plugs it into the Pip-Boy, pulling up the route that he will need to get the hell out of Zion.

Heh. Hell.

Graham makes his way over to Daniel, standing beside him. “There is much work to be done. Thank you for what you have taught me, Perseus. I will not forget it.” He reaches into his pockets. “Take these. You may throw them away, or you may use them. Do what you will with your life. Do not let my memory bind you.”

It’s one of Joshua’s pistols, with the words 'A light shining in darkness' imprinted on the muzzle, and a copy of some kind of scripture. It looks well-read and loved, and Perse is surprised that Joshua would give it to him. He takes them carefully, tucking them into his bag. (He might keep the gun. He’s going to light the scripture on fire and hurl it into the Grand Canyon and scream while he does it.)

Perse doesn’t offer to shake his hand, but he does type out a message and incline his head. **Farewell…Joshua.**

The former Legate's eyes widen, but he nods in return. "Farewell, Courier."

With that, Perse grabs his bag and swings it over his shoulder. Map ready, he gives a nod to the tribes, turns around, and leaves Zion in his past where it is supposed to be. He lets the Malpais Legate, the Burned Man, the master who haunted his nightmares…live. Bloodied, bruised, stinging with the tangible reminder that there were those who would not forgive a war criminal and slaver, that he needed to do better…but alive.

He cannot help thinking as he refills his canteen from the river one last time, _Was it worth it? All this work, all this pain, and yet, you let him live? He destroyed you and all you did was punch him in the face._

True. But Perse feels…lighter. A weight taken off his shoulders. There was no forgiveness, and one little visit certainly won’t get rid of all of Perse’s trauma overnight. But he faced Joshua Graham, the architect of his misery. He got his answers, yelled at him, and forcibly dragged the man into a better life for his own sake, the sake of the people around him…and perhaps for Perse’s. And besides, if anyone needed a chance to do some good and make the world better…it was Joshua Graham. This was cathartic. It was important. And even if he didn’t cut the fucker’s head off with a machete, it was exactly what he needed.

Perse smiles to himself, feeling Zion’s sun on his face.

_Was it worth it?_

_Oh, **yes, it was.**_


End file.
